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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28278090">Advanced</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalsanyo/pseuds/prodigalsanyo'>prodigalsanyo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Barebacking, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Getting Together, Handcuffs, M/M, Secret Crush, Secret Relationship, Spanking, teenage malcolm, vacation sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:54:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28278090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalsanyo/pseuds/prodigalsanyo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Gil strikes out with one Whitly, another Whitly eventually wins him over.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly, Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Advanced</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If you're not into underage, please turn back now.</p><p>As of 2020, Malcolm's birthday is the ultimate mystery.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite what his buddies at the 16th precinct think, Gil believes he has a shot with Jessica Whitly who he intends to love and care for, for as long as she will have him.  Not soon enough, after Dr. Whitly is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, Jessica calls up Gil to inform him that she is a free woman.  </p><p>On midsummer, the longest day of the year, Gil extricates himself from a straightforward homicide involving two fast food customers and a knife during a heat wave.  Murder rates have been on the up-and-up, a 12.4% increase by March.  Though he has no seniority, Gil is getting plenty of experience as the department tackles the demand.</p><p>Gil and Jessica make plans to meet at the Empire State Building.  With Gil’s day shift and the demands of two elementary school-aged children, they agree to meet at 8:00 pm, just before sunset to take pictures together, to commemorate the moment when Gil and Jessica decide to go public with their relationship.</p><p>Gil parks his Le Mans in a garage; splurges for many hours of parking while he takes Jessica out for drinks, a brass band, and maybe a chick flick if she wants to cool her heels.  Gil almost skips past the Art Deco lobby in the Empire State Building.  Scaffolds and tarp are present with Renovation signs blocking the lobby’s murals.  The tourists no longer crowd the elevator lines; Gil waits for his dinner date to arrive.</p><p>He’s not worried when the pale sun plunges below the skyline.  Gil appreciates the golden light reflected in the glass windows visible from the 86th floor observation deck.  He chooses to focus on the golden lining in the darkness.  Luisa tucks in the children around 8 pm; Gil expects Jessica to linger a bit to give them goodnight kisses.  </p><p>He doesn’t quite believe his wristwatch when it’s an hour past.  Gil deduces that Jessica’s son, the hardest hit by his father’s arrest, may be suffering night terrors.  Once Malcolm settles down, Jessica will duck into Ainsley’s room to check that her daughter sleeps soundly.  Gil ponders his future with Jessica and the children, contenting himself with views of Central Park, the Hudson and the East Rivers, the Brooklyn Bridge, Times Square, and Lady Liberty.</p><p>The clacking of high heels steals away his immediate attention from Midtown.  When Gil pivots in anticipation, bagged champagne swinging in his nerveless fingers, it’s a blond woman conversing in Russian with a significantly older man.</p><p>Until the elevator attendant comes to collect visitors in the eleventh hour, Gil fixates on the empty gap where the Trade Center once stood.  He misses the signal lights, their flickering presence like twin stars.</p><p>Gil doesn’t miss a beat when the business line of his precinct displays on the monochromatic display of his cellular device.  </p><p>“I’m fine to come in, boss.  Already in the area,” says Gil.  As he swerves hard out of the parking garage, the glittering gift bag tips over in the vacant passenger seat, dumping out a champagne bottle gone warm, a corkscrew purchased at the last minute (Jessica thought twist-offs were suspect), and plastic cups.</p><p>Otherwise, Gil has zero missed calls or voicemails waiting for him.</p>
<hr/><p>“It’s okay, Jessica,” he says, relieved when she finally comes to him.  She can’t face him or stand to look at him.  They sit on a park bench while Malcom and Ainsley wave at them from the merry-go-round.</p><p>“I can’t go through with it.  There isn’t anyone else.  If I couldn’t come through for you, Gil, it’s not because I found anyone better,” explains Jessica.  “I want to focus on my family without any more disruptions.  It’s selfish of me, I know.”</p><p>She looks untouchable, her dress over her knees and ankles tucked.  The slit on her long, posh skirt prevents her from looking too stuffy.  The air around her is fragrant with allure.  Because she is untouchable.  People like her don’t sweat.</p><p>“Have you said anything to the kids?” asks Gil.</p><p>“Of course not.  It’s a secret,” says Jessica.</p><p>“It’ll be a secret between friends,” replies Gil.  He pats her hand lightly, thrilled when she grabs at him like a lifeline.</p><p>“Friends,” repeats Jessica, faint but determined.</p>
<hr/><p>At age twelve, Malcolm strives to demonstrate his intelligence.  He offers up unsolicited comfort with Gil on a jaunt to the beach.  Gil is doing Jessica a favor, giving her study time for a real estate license.</p><p>“I’m glad you and Mother worked out your differences,” says Malcolm.  He has a balloon animal wrapped around his combed hair, snapping off a piece of long saltwater taffy while a boardwalk artist dabs face paint over Ainsley’s toothless smile.</p><p>“I’ve been busy at work.  Sorry we haven’t hung out in awhile.  That’s on me,” says Gil.</p><p>“You’re a good man, Gil,” says Malcolm.  “It’s better this way.”</p><p>“What do you mean by that, kid?”  Gil has half a mind to confiscate the balloon animal.  Malcolm has already licked the taffy, thereby designating it as his.</p><p>“If Mother were to marry, she would hardly wish to reprise our family’s grievances.  The nature of your work in homicide would’ve complicated matters,” observes Malcolm.  Dressed in a button up shirt with short sleeves, striped bowtie, and gray Vans, Malcolm comes off as such a teacher’s pet.  “She and father would insist on conversation during our meals.  What would you to do with one another with your job as a blacklisted topic?”</p><p>“Talk about you,” says Gil blithely.</p><p>“Fair point, Mr. Gil,” responds Malcolm.</p><p>“Don’t bring this up with your mother,” says Gil.  “I mean it, kid.  She’s having a rough time as it is.”</p><p>“As far as she knows, I’m clueless to such concerns.  I’m at a stage in my development where I am noticing girls, but despite my perhaps precocious understanding of biologic imperatives, I lack the experience and social confidence to gain certain experiences.”</p><p>“Uncle Gil, can I have cotton candy?!” demands Ainsley, a pastel Piglet.  “I’m in the mood for pink!”</p><p>“Pink is not a mood,” says Malcolm, ever the instigator.  Ainsley stomps her feet due to her contrarian brother.  Gil remedies the situation with cotton candy for each child.</p><p>The next time he talks to Jessica, Gil repeatedly advises her, as a friend, to cut off Malcolm’s visitations to Claremont.  In the name of picking up the children from a public library as another personal favor, Gil notes that Malcolm is broadcasting stressors when asked about his schoolwork.  He straddles the uncomfortable boundary of not being Malcolm’s actual father when he finds out that Malcolm is conducting a genealogy search on his father’s family, the Whitly side.  </p><p>“It’s all public record.  Court dockets and vitals statistics are fair game,” says Malcolm.  Gil pages through a notebook which Malcolm hastily shoved into his trendy leather satchel.  He discovers dockets of The State of New York vs. Martin Whitly Sr in the court of criminal law.</p><p>“Did your father put you up to this?  What the hell?” asks Gil.  They’re waiting on Ainsley who sits in a story circle with a librarian.</p><p>“In school, the teacher introduced us to the topic of genetics and inherent traits,” explains Malcolm.  “Just a hop and a skip into dysfunctional families with intergenerational issues.”</p><p>“Where are you going with this, Malcolm?” demands Gil.</p><p>“From one free thinker to another, I’m contemplating my future.  I hadn’t given it much thought in previous years when my father brought me with him to the hospitals on career days.  However, I'll soon be faced with choices on where I attend high school.  Then college.  Then what my vocation shall be afters.”</p><p>“Malcolm, you can be whoever you want to be,” says Gil.  “You’re a good, smart kid.”</p><p>Malcolm looks to him with a bright, fleeting smile.  “I’m never getting married.”</p><p>“You’ll change your mind when you figure out that girls don’t have cooties,” says Gil.</p><p>“They would have to be okay with not having children,” responds Malcolm.</p><p>“You don’t think that maybe your mother wouldn’t want to have grandbabies?” argues Gil.</p><p>“There’s Ainsley,” shrugs Malcolm.  “She has the right to choose if or when to start her own family.  I would love to be Uncle Malcolm.  But me personally, I’m not interested in propagating the psychopath gene.”</p><p>“Malcolm.”  Gil rubs at his hair.  “You are too young to sell yourself short.  You deserve to live life to the fullest.  Don’t limit yourself to a career.  There’s someone who will love you.  Give yourself the chance that you deserve.”</p><p>“Not good enough, Gil.  I’ve got to do better.”  Malcolm pushes back.</p><p>“Give it time, kiddo.  It’s too early to map out your future.  One thing at a time.  You and your sister can do Career Day with me, whenever that happens again at your school?  We have fun programs for the kids when they come around every year,” says Gil.</p><p>When Malcolm asks for his mother’s permission, Jessica readily agrees.  Gil is pleased to see Malcolm digging into snow cones and chattering with the other hyper children while the secretaries dote on them.  </p><p>Gil’s mistake, and he knows it, is taking Malcolm with him to a stakeout.  Middle of the day.  Simply driving around for interviews at diners or coffee shops with seating.  Malcolm eats fries at the counter, just over the witness’s shoulder, where Gil and the diner waitresses who know Gil keep an eye on Malcolm.  Jessica does not approve, but it’s too late for her to take back permission.  Malcolm gets bit by the crime solving bug.</p><p>At thirteen years old going on thirty, Malcolm announces to Gil that he intends to try for Quantico after university.  </p><p>“Should I fail in my endeavor, would you vouch for me at the police academy?” </p><p>Gil can’t bring himself to refuse.  Gil assures Jessica that if the academy doesn’t wash him out, Malcolm can serve in a smaller county as a traffic cop, perform residential check-in visits, possibly evicting tenants/squatters.</p><p>Whenever possible, Gil often nudges Malcolm to put down his miscellaneous book of criminal studies.  Malcolm begrudgingly goes for outings to Coney Island with Ainsley.  Without his text of the week, Malcolm writes in his moleskin diary when they’re having pizza or waiting for Ainsley in the bathroom.</p><p>Ainsley and Gil have a great time relaxing, but Malcolm holds himself apart, watching the cheerful families and characters in-between.  When a little girl disappears, Malcolm turns his moleskin diary over to Gil.  Malcolm’s diary contains dated entries of random physical descriptions of lone men and hasty sketches.  The information leads to the girl’s stepfather who was on the outs with the rest of the little missing girl’s distraught family.</p><p>Malcolm is an experienced traveler by fifteen years, following his mother to summer vacations in Rome, Milan, Paris, London, and Sydney.  He keeps abreast of local and national syndicate newspapers in his leather satchel and he dresses like LL Bean’s poster boy.  His standard dress code includes a watch with the analog display oriented to just under his palm for ease of access instead of style piece.  His Palm Pilot organizes his workload when Malcolm is home from boarding school.  Gil gets subtle notes of fragrance and hair product when he hugs Malcolm for a night out.</p><p>Gil is accustomed to the eccentricities of the rich and famous, but anyone looking in would assume that Malcolm had an appointment with him.  It’s really fun for Gil to clock the befuddlement on people’s faces when they hear Malcolm before getting confronted by his blinky Bambi eyes and the puppy fat softening his jawline.  Too many of their conversations go off the rails, with Malcolm jumping trains of thought like a train hobo on speed.</p><p>A passing mention of tech upgrades at Gil’s job somehow mushrooms into the life and times of known terrorist bin Laden.</p><p>“What made him a killer?  How did his actions escalate from fiery pan-Islamic rhetoric to mass murder in Mogadishu and Trade Center ‘93, the 1995 Bombing of the Nat’l Guard in his hometown Riyadh?  And before 9/11, the U.S.S. Cole, dead sailors and dozens injured in Yemen?”  Malcolm’s straw twirls around a maraschino cherry.  “The bin Laden family built their conglomerate on Volkswagen and Snapples.  The Saudi monarchy themselves were pro-western.”</p><p>“He and I are quite alike.  Both of us western educated.  Affluent backgrounds.  Differences being that I am the firstborn in a small household and he is the middle child who craves that limelight.  He wants to stand out from his… fifty six other siblings?  With practical experience in managing large-scale projects and gifted oratory skills, he was pretty much destined to be an ambitious megalomaniac.  I, too, crave acknowledgement on the moral high ground.  Privileged males like us become self-radicalized.  I can think of ways to find sycophants and build my echo chamber.  I have an audience in my peerage who are tired of public apathy towards war and Wall Street and--”</p><p>“Not in a million years, kid.  Not if I have something to say about it,” says Gil.</p><p>Malcolm’s odd lectures inform Gil on how to handle a case with a Brooklyn bomber. Their bomber doesn’t have any ties to the Muslim brotherhood, but his profile is hauntingly similar to the demographics targeted by terror cells. Gil talks a terrified young man out of his booby-trapped apartment studio the way he would talk to Malcolm when he’s in over his head.  Mr. Homegrown Terror, a suburbanite from a good home, forgets to eat and Gil’s firm attention and an impromptu sandwich delivery de-escalates the situation from one more smoking crater in the borough.  </p><p>When they like you, Gil knows, it falls on his shoulders.  For months after, Gil can’t stand the smell of relish and mayonnaise, having stood within blast radius alongside a negotiator.  </p><p>Mal is still fifteen when Gil extricates him from a party replete with booze and beats.  Jessica believes that Malcolm is staying with a boarding school friend, as the story so often goes.  At her frantic behest, Gil hits up Chelsea and circles around Hell’s Kitchen.  Unis radioed Gil with the location of a muscle car belonging to Malcolm’s boarding school friend.  Gil’s shield gets him through the party host’s entrance door without a cover charge.  Malcolm is getting manhandled on a sofa.  From beneath a tangle of brown arms and pale legs and big, hunched shoulders, Malcolm’s flushed face emerges.  His lashes flutter, bottom lip fluffed out, shiny and wet, from deep kisses.  </p><p>A large hookah shatters when Gil separates them.  </p><p>“I recommend you cease and desist, sir.  He is a fifteen year old minor,” says Gil, shoving a much larger Southwest Indian male off of Malcolm.  Malcolm still looks like he could negotiate a kid’s discount at an all-you-can-eat buffet.  </p><p>“What are you, police?  I’m sixteen,” claims the amorous young man.</p><p>Gil’s rage mounts when Malcolm drags his movements.  Gil can’t take Malcolm straight home.  His print shirt doesn’t close over his small and thin chest, loose threads indicating where buttons came off.  Malcolm denies drinking alcohol, but he looks like a sloppy mess.  Gil marches the teenager right into the precinct to process him for underage drinking and Malcolm resignedly takes personal responsibility.</p><p>“What do you have to say for yourself, young man?” says Gil.  He throws an old T-shirt at Malcolm’s head.  As mad as he is, Gil doesn’t want Jessica to see Malcolm quite so disheveled.</p><p>“Nothing else happened.  I’ll take a breathalyzer,” says Malcolm, huddling up in Gil’s shirt.  He is negative for alcohol, and Gil leaves him to Jessica’s tender mercies.</p><p>Gil doesn’t mention the boyfriend.  In return, Malcolm calls Gil from the landline when he is grounded at home.  Malcolm usually dithers about school work, doesn’t mention friends.  The conversation usually spirals into the moment when Gil catches himself feeding case details to Malcolm without meaning to.  That Malcolm seeks him out gives Gil a sense of relief and hope that he might survive Malcolm’s ill-timed bid for independence.</p><p>Gil receives his old T-shirt after Malcolm is no longer grounded.  He whiffs almost a sweet perfume when he throws it into his gym bag.</p><p>Gil has no idea that Malcolm is on the road, or that Jessica was foolish enough to let that kid get a driver’s license, when he picks up a voicemail.  It’s Malcolm, asking him for a ride home.  Malcolm is stuck about an hour from Midtown.</p><p>“I am so telling your mom.  If the reason why you called me was because you were hoping I would bail you out, you grossly miscalculated,” says Gil.  He helps Malcolm patch up the flaccid tire.  Gil roots around in the trunk of Malcolm’s car and finds a duffle with towels, duct tape, and rope.  </p><p>“Just where were you headed to, kid?”  He tosses the paraphernalia right back into the trunk, unwilling to open discussions that will make him out to be a dirty, old man.</p><p>“From a private gathering in the Hamptons.  Mother is aware that I am on this trip.  She knows the parents.”  Malcolm insists that he is fine.  His right hand shakes in his lap on the ride home.  He has a colored stamp on the back of his hand tucked between his shorts.</p><p>Gil recognizes the stamp from a social club venue that caters to sexual deviants, of means.  On the papers, a business which evaded elimination by NYPD anti-solicitation task force.  In practice, a sex club that Malcolm has frequented at least once.  Gil is absolutely not within bounds to call him out.  Malcolm will have questions for which Gil will never be prepared.</p><p>“Will you be alright, Malcolm?”  Gil keeps his hands on the steering wheel.</p><p>“I don’t know, Gil.  I don’t know what I’m doing.”</p><p>“I’m not sure what’s gotten into you lately,” lies Gil, through his teeth.  The next part, he means.  “When you’re ready, kid, talk to me.  You’ll figure it out.  If I could repeat my wonder years, I’d tell myself to slow down.  Don’t get so ahead of yourself.  You’ve had to learn maturity, but don’t forget that you’re a sweet kid.”</p><p>Gil says a little prayer that Malcolm listens to him, that he can hear Gil’s indirect warning.</p><p>“If you say so, Gil.”  Malcolm leans into the passenger window, wiping his eyes.  He feigns a yawn.</p>
<hr/><p>Ainsley, 14, gets her period and wants to leave early during their yearly beach trip.  Malcolm hovers near the public bathrooms while Gil purchases tampons.  Gil gives Ainsley his NYPD sweatshirt when she’s shivering from the ocean water dripping off of her long, blond hair.</p><p>“I want to go home, but it’s your birthday tomorrow,” says Ainsley to Malcolm.  She calls their mother.  Jessica sends Adolpho to retrieve Ainsley.  Gil objects, stating that he can save their driver the trip.</p><p>“Nonsense.  You paid for half of the beach rental.  Enjoy the vacation.  Bring Malcolm back in time for his afternoon soiree,” says Jessica.</p><p>Upon Ainsley’s departure, Gil does feel marginally reassured that all of them are lodging in separate bedrooms on shorefront property.  Malcolm’s night terrors make hotel stays a non-starter.  After a delicious seafood dinner, in which Malcolm stuffs his face with scallops, they lope around the arcade areas of the boardwalk.  Malcolm fails to win a giant stuffed tiger for Ainsley. </p><p>“There, there.  Try and try again,” says Gil.</p><p>“At this point, the arcade made back their money,” says Malcolm.  He burned through his wallet for a few paper tickets to redeem what amounted to a dollar store toy.</p><p>Gil relaxes enough to grab Malcolm for a quick hug, gratified when Malcolm squeezes back.</p><p>When Malcolm goes to bed at 10 pm, he does look pretty beat.  The long day of sun, the saltier and greasier fare, and competing with Ainsley for running times and laps swam in the ocean, combined!, takes an understandable toll on an insomniac like Malcolm.</p><p>Gil puts on a movie and runs the washer for all of their clothes and towels.  He won’t have to track more sand than necessary into his car, the perks of privately owned lodgings.  After the credits roll, Gill does a bed check.  With the A/C unit running, Gil doesn’t think anything of the blankets tucked all the way up to Malcolm’s chin.  Malcolm is asleep by 11 pm.</p><p>Gil decides to go out for a drink.  He leaves a note on the counter, in case Malcolm gets up for water.  He locks up the front door and the exterior security gate embellished with fleur de lis.  Gil doesn’t walk far before he notices a nightclub with young things, hot and fit, leaving the club to mingle near a cart selling BBQ meat on sticks.  Enough people are exiting that the lines of more hot, young things waiting for the door move at a very promising rate.</p><p>The bartender chats up Gil until he picks a cocktail.  Gil relaxes his mind, so that his speculative glance over club patrons becomes more appreciative, leisurely, intent.  If he saw something he liked, he might be crazy enough to follow up, so long as he returns to the beach house by morning.</p><p>The silhouette catches his eye.  White jeans cut extremely tight.  Pale hands teasing the bottom of a crop top, roving over bare midriff.  Gil gets an impression of a lithe body moving lower and lower, promising a night of debauchery with supple legs around his waist.  Upraised slim arms obscure a teasing smile while framing bright eyes that find Gil.  It sends a pulse of heat through Gil, getting him on his feet to close distance.  The hot little thing turns from Gil, hair fanning out, hips circling in a timeless dance of enticement.</p><p>Gil waltzes right into the press of bodies, searching out the tantalizing figure which caught his fancy.  He discovers Malcolm enfolded in another man’s arms, pawing up Malcolm’s legs.  Gil’s pulse spikes into mindless fury as he disentangles his young charge from a complete stranger.</p><p>“Hey, we’re dancing here!” protests the creep who is all over Malcolm.</p><p>People circle around them when Gil displays the badge clipped to his wallet.</p><p>“Let’s. Go,” Gil shouts over the music.</p><p>“Good job ruining it for everyone!!”</p><p>Malcolm runs out, ducking his embarrassed face, and Gil is on his heels.  Gil thinks very darkly that Malcolm will have a hard time walking after he gets reamed out.</p><p>“What were you thinking, going out alone without telling me?!” he growls.  Gil gets pretty choked up, because he wants to announce that their outings are cancelled until Gil can trust Malcolm not to do anything this stupid again.</p><p>“So, if I asked you out, would you have said yes?” </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>Malcolm straightens up, making himself not even an inch taller.  He’s pretty worked up himself, his breathing causes his abdominal muscles to jump.</p><p>“If I asked you out, like on a date, would you have said yes?” repeats Malcolm.</p><p>“Inside. Now.”  Gil waves him into the beach house with a flourish.  The wrought metal security gate raises up a clamor when Gil slams it.</p><p>“You’re almost a child!” exclaims Gil.</p><p>Malcolm gestures at himself.  He brushes back thick strands of hair damp with sweat.  “What do you think?  I saw you watching me.”</p><p>“You are a child,” insists Gil.</p><p>“I’m not.  I haven’t been innocent for a very long time, Gil.  Though some people may see me as a child.”</p><p>“I don’t like the sneaking out or the lying,” says Gil.</p><p>“How else do I get what I want?  I want to engage in sex with you, but obviously that’s impossible,” retorts Malcolm.  “I would’ve had a quickie hookup.  Then I would’ve come back.  To you.”</p><p>“Not gonna happen,” says Gil.  </p><p>“It’s been happening.  I’ve been doing it since sophomore year,” taunts Malcolm.</p><p>Gil catches Malcolm, who flinches in surprise.  “Kid, look at me.”</p><p>Malcolm’s stubborn expression doesn’t break.  He stiffly faces Gil despite the tears rolling down his sun-kissed cheeks.  Gil holds fast no matter how much Malcolm shakes him off.  </p><p>“I love you, Malcolm.  Why do you insist on driving me crazy?!”  He doesn’t mean to sound like he’s begging, but honestly, Gil is heartbroken by Malcolm’s efforts to break free of him.</p><p>“Because I’m in love with a man who’s literally the only good thing in my Godawful life!” declares Malcolm.  </p><p>“How do I choose, baby?  If I kick you loose, no harm no foul, some other skeevy types who don’t know you will take advantage.  You get into amazing amounts of trouble.  I risk tarnishing my reputation.  If I don’t let you go.  If I give into all the filthy, filthy ways I’d like to ruin you. There will be consequences from my actions,” says Gil.  Malcolm leans into the softer cadence of Gil’s voice.</p><p>“You’ve got such a special way of looking at things.  Whip smart. Gifted.  Open hearted.  I forget how young you are when we get along like a house on fire.  Breaks my heart that you don’t know your own worth.  Why do you want to get under some jerks??” questions Gil.  He rubs Malcolm’s back and kisses the soft skin along Malcolm’s hair.</p><p>“This is what I want.  You are who I want,” pleads Malcolm.  “I’ve gone through too much not to follow through when I find the person or the people who can make my fantasies better.  Real.  There are those who will judge me for sharing my fantasies.  For wanting to find people who already desire the same.  They will despise me for the fantasy world inside my twisted mind.”</p><p>Malcolm’s hands clasp at Gil’s face.  His thumbs rub at Gil’s chin, his goatee hairs flecked salt white.  The first wave of silver.  Gil dips his head forward and kisses at the pale and trembling fingers warming his skin.</p><p>“Those same upstanding righteous folks would see me as a predatory creep who statutory rapes a child.  Shit like this is why people will hate our relationship and why they will keep hating us,” reasons Gil.  </p><p>After a beat, Gil makes his choice.</p><p>“Fuck ‘em,” says Gil.  “If you give me your consent, Malcolm, I’m here for you.  I want to be the one who makes you happy.  Your pleasure is more important to me than any anonymous killjoy who wants to put the kibosh on our fun times.”</p><p>Malcolm’s naughty smile brushes against Gil’s lips.  </p><p>“What is it?” asks Gil, wondering what could be in Malcolm’s head.</p><p>“Stroke of midnight,” answers Malcolm.  Gil shivers in the long, midnight strokes.</p><p>“Happy birthday,” says Gil.  Then it occurs to him that the night went exactly where Malcolm wanted it to, the manipulative brat who is now of legal age.  </p><p>Gil draws him into a slow kiss.  Gil revels in Malcolm’s soft skin, his compact frame, and how he sounds, knowing that he’s about to get wrecked by his fantasy guy.  Too easily, Gil sweeps him off the floor and throws Malcolm down into bed.  Gil’s cock firms up from Malcolm’s excited gasp.  Within moments, Gil clambers on top of Malcolm, raising Malcolm’s arms overhead.</p><p>“Gil!” Malcolm’s eyes fly open when he can’t lower his arms.  The cuffs restrain his wrists, the links securing him to the bars of Gil’s headboard.  His crop top tangles around his restless hands.  Gil strips off Malcolm’s tight jeans, leaving incidental red marks where his fingernails pried off the constraining fabric.</p><p>“One thing that’s going to change.  You are going to learn how to take a damn compliment,” says Gil.  “When I say that you’re fucking gorgeous, how do you respond?”</p><p>“Uh…” Malcolm freezes up.</p><p>Gil hikes up Malcolm’s leg, striking him deftly, leaving Malcolm breathless, hard, and ringing inside his ear.  Pre-cum dribbles down Malcolm’s cock when Gil whispers in his ear.  “You say ‘Thank you, Daddy.’”</p><p>“Oh fuck.  Fuck,” cries Malcolm, curling up, hips moving as pain translates into deep pleasure spreading like a bruise beneath his skin.</p><p>“No more self-deprecating bullshit that you do,” says Gil.  “You are good enough.  I love you no matter what you do.”</p><p>“But I can be better--”</p><p>Malcolm sobs when Gil smacks him multiple times on the same ass cheek.  The headboard rattles as Malcolm struggles for naught.  Malcolm’s jaw drops, and he drinks his tears.  He’s floating from how Gil sees him.</p><p>“Thank you, Daddy,” wails Malcolm.  He arches, hips lifting from the sensual pressure of Gil’s fingers tracing his smarted skin.  His entire body opens up to Gil’s firm hand marking him.  It doesn’t feel like too long as Gil sinks in one well-lubed finger after another.</p><p>“Sweet, so sweet,” whispers Gil, in-between too many kisses to number. Tasting Malcolm while stuffing him with fingers.   He sheds his loud vacation clothes, treating Malcolm to a full view of his gloriously naked body, the very same that Malcolm’s been dreaming about for years.</p><p>“Fuck, baby, you take me so well.”  Gil’s sweating when he mounts himself between Malcolm’s legs.  Using all his strength to hold back for the right moment.  “I love your broken little ass.  You’re all mine to love.”</p><p>Malcolm soaks up so much of Gil’s love that it breaks him.  He comes hard enough that he takes Gil over the edge with him.</p><p>“Thank you, Daddy,” says Malcolm, when Gil gives him so much, filling him good, making Malcolm feel how very badly he is wanted.  Malcolm's lover may be older and incredibly experienced, but Malcolm has always known that he's been advanced for his age.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No explanations, just content.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p></blockquote></div></div>
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